


Mission Impossible

by teennplantt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Coffee Shops, Hitman AU, M/M, Mafia!Lance, Not your average love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teennplantt/pseuds/teennplantt
Summary: Lance lost his father when he was sixteen, and since then he has been under the mafia's thumb. Keith is a rich man Lance was sent to murder, but after a disasterous encounter at a coffee shop, finds himself falling in love with.





	Mission Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> This was a beast to write, honestly, and I can barely believe it's all over. I hope you guys enjoy, as I spent a really long time with this in the works. 
> 
> Feel free to contact/message me on tumblr: xtrakrap

Day 40

Lance brought his teacup down softly onto its saucer, only a small clink produced by the fine China. He shivered in his seat, the cold air produced by the shop's broken heater landing directly on the back of his neck. He placed the manila folder in his briefcase onto the white cloth before him. The soft light of the rundown coffee house illuminated a man's face. A man that Lance would soon be forced to kill, and a soul that would soon join those in Heaven or Hell.

Keith Kogane. 

Lance's apartment was a one bedroom in the city with little to its name. It was on the fifth floor of the complex and had a beautiful view of the parking lot that desperately needed to be repaved. Lance had only a handful of possessions to his name, never leaving anything in his wake when he went. He could leave the building in which he had spent a decade of his life tomorrow, and no one would ever know the difference. In a world of paranoia, Lance liked knowing he was safe. 

If a past version of himself were to see the way he lived, he would have scoffed. He would have introduced himself to all of his neighbors on his first day at the complex with cookies and attempts at humor. The old Lance didn't know what laid ahead of him; he didn't understand that sometimes life got complicated. He showed his fears on the outside while having nothing to fear; the new Lance feared sharing the things which frightened him. The new Lance had to do what he had to do, and it was better for him to accomplish those things alone. 

Day 39

Rain pattered roughly on the windows of the coffee shop, and people ran inside to seek any form of refuge from the unforgiving storm. That was when Lance found him: Keith Kogane. He just stumbled into the coffee shop, looking soaked but otherwise the same as the photograph in Lance's dossier. He was utterly gorgeous in every form of the word, despite being disheveled and disgruntled. Droplets of water clung tightly to his chest and dribbled off his hair in rivulets, making him look that much more desirable. 

"Could I get a black coffee?" he ordered at the counter. Even his voice made heat coil in the pit of Lance's stomach. Once Keith had his beverage, he retreated to the far corner of the café to enjoy it. Lance had to leave or risk being seen, but he couldn't stop himself from staring just a moment longer. 

Day 25

Keith had stopped into the coffee shop everyday at the exact same time since the incident with the rain. Lance knew this because he was also certain to be at the coffee shop at the same time everyday. Keith never took his coffee to go, always ordered it black, and always sat in the back corner of the café with the same copy of the Times. 

Lance knew it was foolish to risk becoming a blip on Keith's radar, but he couldn't stop himself from being fascinated with the man. The leader of the mafia, Ricardo, could never know that Lance had been snooping around under Keith's nose when he had orders to murder Keith the minute he saw him. But Lance couldn't help that Keith was captivating. He wore mystery around him as well as he wore his red leather jacket, and it made him more difficult for Lance to write off as he had his other victims. 

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Lance's train of thought was completely derailed when Keith approached him. 

"No, go right ahead," Lance gestured to the empty seat. He sat with his back a little straighter, suddenly caught off guard that Keith would upset the status quo. 

"Thanks," Lance could tell Keith's resulting smile was forced as the man took his seat. "You come in here a lot, I noticed." 

"It's close to where I work," Lance lied. "I like to get a cup before heading into the office." 

"Me too," Keith nodded. "Sorry I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Red." Lance's eyes widened fractionally at the use of an alias. It indicated that Lance wasn't the only one here with something to hide. 

"The name's Lance," Lance extended his hand, which Keith shook reluctantly. He was obviously uncomfortable with even the small form of intimacy. "I noticed you read the Times." 

"I noticed you've been noticing me read the Times," Keith countered. 

"You read the same issue every morning," Lance replied. "It interests me that someone would do that." 

"Are you a detective?" Keith frowned. 

"No, merely an observer." 

"I can tell when I'm being lied to," Lance had to bite back a laugh at the irony of his statement. Keith didn't realize how few cards he held in this game, and Lance was eating it up with the same morbid humor of a child using a magnifying glass to burn ants on the sidewalk. 

"I'm not lying to you," Lance assured. "The only reason I've been noticing you so much is because I like you. Would you get dinner with me sometime?" He hoped his invitation and faux confession of desire would be enough to derail Keith. 

"I'd be delighted," Keith agreed. "Let's meet here tonight at seven." Lance's eyes widened fractionally in shock that Keith had agreed, foolhardily, into a date with a complete stranger. The same stranger who had been borderline stalking him in a coffee shop, no less. 

"I look forward to it," Lance said, downing the last sip of his tea. 

Lance's heart pounded as he raced home to his apartment. He could dress it up any way he wanted, but Keith was supposed to be his victim, and he had a dinner date with him. He had broken one of the only rules set out by the mafia. Lance ran his hands through his hair frantically, and adrenaline flooded his veins, crashing over him like water from a rotting dam. He had no choice but to speed up his mission and take Keith out before he was discovered. 

Lance went to his closet and pulled a handgun out of an old Smith and Wesson box stashed in the back. The box had belonged to his father, before the mafia had taken him. The memory of the day Lance's father had been forced to leave him was a wound Lance didn't think would ever heal itself. Every click of the barrel of a loaded gun reminded Lance of the one his father's "coworker" had pressed against his temple. Lance still woke himself up pleading with men whose faces began to blur together to let his father go. He took a deep breath as his palm caressed the gun he was holding now. Who was to say he was any better than they were? 

Everyone made mistakes. 

Lance went to the hall closet and found the oil he used to clean his guns and a box of bullets. He returned upstairs to see his outfit laid out on the foot of his bed and next to his nicest button up was the handgun. Soon, Keith Kogane would only be another name on the list of people whose lives Lance had been ordered to take. He would no longer be the abstractly cute, quirky boy Lance had met at a coffee shop; he had ceased to be that the moment Lance had recognized him. From that moment on Keith had become a target. 

Lance pulled off his t-shirt and shrugged into the button down. It was a pale blue which he had been told really brought out his eyes. He stood in front of his full length mirror as he took his time slotting each button into place before taking off his jeans. His legs were long, tanned, and marred with scars that usually prompted him to keep them covered. One didn't get into forced work with the mafia without having to be...persuaded first. He tugged on his tight black jeans before finding a belt in his closet. 

Lance polished his gun and made sure he had a full chamber of bullets, although he only really needed one, maybe two, if Keith put up a good fight. Lance's dossier painted an impressive picture of Keith. He was apparently heir to a large fortune, a fortune which the mafia wanted their hands on sooner rather than later. He was a trained fighter and had grown up learning how to survive. In a lot of ways, Lance could see himself getting along with Keith. Maybe in a different life. 

"Where are you headed?" Lance stepped out into his living room and saw Ricardo seated comfortably on the couch. 

"How did you get in?" Lance drew his gun and aimed for the center of Ricardo's chest. How easy would it be to take the man out and cut himself lose, but sometimes the easiest road to freedom is the one with the most risks. 

"Drop your weapon," Ricardo ordered. He had his hair slicked back and wore a grey three piece suit with a blood red dress shirt. He was the picture of wealth and power. 

"Why are you in my apartment?" Lance demanded through gritted teeth. 

"You hadn't checked in for a few days, so I decided to drop by and let myself in," Ricardo answered airily, but Lance had the feeling there was something more that Ricardo wasn't telling him. Lance tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants, but he had far from dropped his guard. 

"I was just headed out to complete the Kogane mission," Lance stated. 

"I won't keep you," Ricardo waved Lance away, causing him to become increasingly apprehensive. The last thing he wanted was for Ricardo to be in his apartment, alone, where he could easily sift through Lance's belongings without anyone there to stop him. He knew better than to outwardly disagree, so he simply headed for the door. 

"Oh, and Lance?" Ricardo called, and Lance spun back around to face the back of the couch. "That's a handsome shirt." 

"Thank you," Lance answered stiffly. There was only one explanation for the compliment: Ricardo knew Lance had broken a rule. He knew where he was going, but there was no way for Lance to test his theory without further incriminating himself. He was trapped yet again, and Ricardo knew that too. 

Relief flooded Lance's system at the sight of Keith standing in front of the coffee shop. He seemed even more incredible now that Lance knew these were his final moments alive. Keith spotted him from down the sidewalk and waved.

"Hey, Lance," Keith grinned. "You finally made it. I was starting to worry you were going to stand me up." 

"No, I'd never," Lance flushed under Keith's bright smile and appraising eyes. "This is the first real date I've been on in a while. You know how busy life can get." He offered a vague half-truth as small talk. 

"Yeah, I do," Keith nodded. "Where do you want to go for dinner?" 

"Oh, I don't care as long as there's food," Lance replied. 

"I know the best place," Keith offered his arm for Lance to take, and as Lance touched him, he could feel his shudder. The fact that Keith was attempting to put up a front for Lance immediately tripped a warning in his head, but he pushed it down as Keith led him to his motorcycle. 

"Wanna ride?" Keith winked as he detached himself from Lance to toss him a helmet. 

"Hell yeah," Lance agreed readily. He caught the helmet that was thrown to him and put it on, buckling the strap and watching Keith carefully do the same.

"Get on then," Keith turned on the motorcycle's seat and watched Lance's long legs swing themselves over the sides of the motorcycle in awe. "You're stunning, Lance. Can I kiss you?" 

"Yes, please," Lance answered, and Keith grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward for a kiss. Keith cupped his jaw and moved his lips expertly against Lance's. Lance nearly whined when it was over, but then Keith turned back around and started his motorcycle's engine. 

"You might want to hold on," Keith chuckled before taking off at speeds that definitely weren't legal. Lance dug his fingers into Keith's hips, clutching his leather jacket, and causing Keith to let out a thrilled bark of laughter. Lance found that after a minute, he was smiling as well. He could feel the wind whipping against his cheeks and billowing through his clothes. He was cold, and the streets were only a blur. But he was free. 

All too soon, they arrived in front of a swanky restaurant, and Keith pulled his motorcycle into park on the street. 

"Have fun?" Keith asked as he yanked off his helmet. He climbed off of the motorcycle with a practiced grace that sent Lance reeling. 

"I did actually," Lance smiled coyly. "I didn't think I would." It was the first true thing Lance had said since telling Keith his name. He handed Keith the loaner helmet before following him into the restaurant. It was a dimly lit Italian place with a nice atmosphere for a first date; Lance glanced around the room and noticed three other couples seated at small circular tables, all enjoying intimate meals. The ceilings were vaulted and dark, with twinkling pale lights attached to them, and the tables all had crushed red velvet cloths. So Keith wasn't ashamed of admitting his wealth to a first date; that was useful information. 

"Do you come here often?" Lance asked as they approached the hostess. She was a slight brunette whose hair was held back in a tight ponytail. 

"Not much since I haven't had anyone to accompany me," Keith replied. "My ex-fiancé committed suicide last summer. It was a month before our wedding." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lance tried not to flinch at the thought of Keith's fiancé. He had nearly forgotten what that man's green eyes had looked like as the light had flooded from them. He had been cold and unfitted for Keith, but Lance couldn't tell him that. He had made mistakes and gotten himself in trouble with people who didn't forgive easily; Lance wondered how much of the truth Keith knew. 

"Life goes on," Keith spoke with a frigid edge to his tone. Perhaps he was more jaded than Lance assumed. 

"Hi, how many in your party?" The hostess interrupted Lance's inner monologue. 

"Two," Keith answered. "I called earlier and made a reservation." 

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Red." Lance froze again under the alias. Keith was a mystery, and Lance hated to be left guessing. The only thing reminding Lance of the job he had to do was the gun pressed against his hip. The hostess led Lance and Keith to a table, and Keith pulled Lance's chair out for him, guiding him into it with a gentle hand on the small of his back. 

"Thank you," Keith nodded to the hostess as she set menus in front of each of the men and poured them a glass of water. 

"Of course," the hostess grinned prettily at Keith before returning to her post. Keith opened his menu, and Lance mirrored the action. He noticed Keith wipe the rim of his glass both before and after sipping his water. 

"I'm naturally untrusting," Keith caught Lance mid-observation. "And you aren't the only one who's perfected the art of watching people when they aren't looking. For example, you've already mapped out every entrance and exit in this place." He leaned back and folded his arms, celebrating what he thought to be superior knowledge. 

"So have you," Lance countered. 

"And you've got a loaded 42 in the waistband of your jeans," Keith smirked. "Do you always carry a gun?" 

"I believe in keeping myself protected." 

"As do I," Keith's eyes flicked up over the top of his menu to meet Lance's. There was a pause as Keith gave Lance a cursory yet calculating glance. "From whom are you running?" 

"What?" Lance's eyes shot wide, and reflexively, his hand found his way to his gun. 

"Or from what?" Keith added. "I can see it in your eyes, Lance. You live in fear, but you've completely deluded yourself into believing that the very same fear which keeps your heart beating eight beats faster per minute is keeping you safe." 

"If I'm a man on the run, then so are you," Lance sipped his water contemplatively. 

"I never said I wasn't," Keith unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. "Have you decided what you want to eat?" 

"Yes," Lance nodded, and Keith waved one of the wait staff over. Lance watched Keith move with a practiced, agile grace that intrigued him as much as it scared him. Coupled with Keith's obvious intelligence, and Lance didn't know if he was in love or trying to solve a puzzle. Either way, he realized he had to keep Keith alive just a little longer. 

Day 22

Lance awoke early in the morning with a text from Keith that read, 'Dinner tonight? Come to my place around 8, if you want. I'm having a few friends over, and I want them to meet you.' 

'Dinner sounds lovely,' Lance replied to the text without even thinking. He never had to contemplate clearing time to spend with Keith; he was an enigma, and like teenagers flocking to the newest trends in fashion, Lance was completely drawn to him. He had never felt so comfortable yet so exposed in the presence of another person. No one else had ever made Lance feel so hot under the collar from a simple kiss, and he loved it. In the darkest corners of his mind while he was alone, he could admit to picturing himself and Keith being truly happy. They could cut each other free. 

Lance dressed in his finest evening wear and had his hair cut in preparation for his second date with Keith. He wanted to give the appearance of power without setting off any of Keith's killer instincts; it was a fine line, but Lance thought he walked it well. He grabbed a formal jacket and slipped his gun into the waistband of his dress pants. 

Lance stood outside of his apartment complex, waiting for Keith to pick him up when he heard a gunshot go off. At first, he assumed it was another petty drug war, and he didn't concern himself with the violence. He had witnessed and caused enough to know when it was better to keep his mouth shut and not become a target. 

"Hey, you!" A dingy looking man in a stained and holed grey hoodie approached Lance with a pistol pointed at his chest. "Give me your wallet!" 

"Back off before I paint the sidewalk with your blood, tú hijo de perra," Lance was quick to draw his gun and fire a warning shot that whizzed past the assailant's ear. His devilish grin let the hooded man know he wasn't to be messed with, that Lance would only spare his life for another moment. The man turned and started running, but Lance pulled the trigger anyway. "Bastard," Lance whispered to himself as the man hit the pavement. Some people didn't deserve to be alive. 

Lance could hear the roar of Keith's motorcycle pulling into the parking lot, and he quickly tucked his gun away again. He flashed a warm smile at Keith, nothing that would lead him to believe Lance had committed murder less than a minute ago. He spared a glance across the parking lot and a second of silence for the soul fighting its way up from Hell. 

"Don't you look handsome?" Keith complimented. "Did you get your hair cut?" 

"I did," Lance replied. "Thank you for noticing. You look gorgeous on that bike, by the way." 

"You're far from my harshest critic," Keith chuckled modestly. He looked around the parking lot, taking in the dilapidated apartment complex and the cracked, hollow pool out front. "You live in this shithole?" 

"Oh, that's not fair," Lance said humorously. "You haven't seen all 500 square feet of pure paradise that is my apartment." 

"Are you flirting with me?" Keith laughed. 

"Yes, and it's totally working," Lance wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, letting a small piece of the old Lance shine through his rough outer coating. 

"Just get on the bike, you dork," Keith pretended to roll his eyes, but Lance could see that he was fighting a grin. "I think I like flirty Lance."

"If only you'd met me sooner," Lance muttered under his breath. He pressed a soft kiss to Keith's cheek before pulling on the spare helmet. He swung his leg over the motorcycle and fully seated himself before placing his hands on Keith's hips. 

Keith drove them to his house, if it could even be called that. It was a high rise with a view of the ocean, painted in tropical shades of orange and blue and adorned with elegant columns. 

"Welcome to casa de Red," Keith cut the engine on his bike, and Lance hurried to clamber off the seat. He stepped onto the brick driveway; he had to be dreaming. He had grown up around wealth, and he knew what it looked like in excess. But he had never allowed it to take his breath away the way it was now. The way Keith did. 

"Woah," Lance breathed. "This place is incredible." He pulled off his helmet and tossed it back to Keith as he continued his dazed pacing around the front of the property. 

"Just wait until I give you the tour," Keith smirked before dismounting from his bike and leading Lance inside. He dumped the bike helmets in a hall closet by the door. The home wasn't any less magnificent on the inside. It was modestly but elegantly decorated with ornate artwork in gold frames, and there wasn't a single object or piece of furniture out of place. Lance had been inside the house once before, but it had been dark, and he hadn't had time to appreciate the nuances. Usually when Lance was about to murder someone, he didn't take time to stop and smell the roses. 

"When are your friends arriving?" Lance asked as Keith led him out to the balcony. 

"They'll be here soon," Keith answered vaguely. "I wanted to have time to spend with you alone first." He paced towards Lance, and Lance wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned in and waited for Keith to close the gap between their lips, but he didn't. 

"What's wrong?" Lance asked, peering down at Keith through half-lidded eyes. 

"Nothing," Keith said. "You're just breathtaking." He cupped Lance's cheek and pulled him in for a heated kiss. Their lips moved together as though they were dancing, and Keith's hand quickly found its way inside Lance's suit jacket. "Do you not trust me, Lance?" He pulled the loaded gun out of Lance's waistband. 

"Don't take it personally," Lance grabbed his gun from between Keith's fingers and tucked it back into his pants. "I don't trust easily." Keith hummed thoughtfully for another moment before resuming the heated presses of their lips and exploration of his hands. 

"My fiancé was the same way," Keith trailed his fingers gently along Lance's wrist. 

"I'm sorry," Lance spoke with an earnestness that he wasn't aware he was still capable of. Keith had no way of knowing what Lance was apologizing for. "He must have been a good man." 

"And what makes you say that?" 

"Because he was seeing you," Lance kissed the tip of Keith's nose and watched as the man blushed. 

Day 19

Lance attempted to hold in a yawn as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was being forced to attend a meeting about his progress with the Kogane mission, which after he finished admitting to Ricardo that he hadn't yet killed the guy, was pretty damn useless. Lance couldn't believe he'd had to get out of bed for this. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, purposefully shooting a defiant glare at one of the higher-ups as he did so. He was a hit man, not their secretary. 

'Bored. Help.' It was a text from Keith, and Lance had to bite his bottom lip in order to contain the grin threatening to spill onto his face. 

'I'm bored too, babe. I'm in a meeting.' Lance wrote back. 'Who knew insurance could get any more boring than it sounds?' He added a moment later, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

'I can't even imagine the Hell you're in.' Lance could nearly hear the snarky laughter in Keith's reply. 

'Can you meet for lunch?' Lance asked. He checked his watch and prayed that he would be dismissed soon. 

'I didn't think people normally met for lunch on a third date.' Keith replied cheekily. 'I was hoping you were planning on showing up at my door with champagne and flowers.' 

'I would do anything for you, mi amor ;)' Lance forced himself to pocket his phone and pay a semblance of attention then, but it was impossible. His phone went off less than a minute later, and he was dying to answer it. Ricardo and everyone else in the eerily quiet boardroom was staring down the back of his neck. 

"I'm sorry you find our meeting so boring, Lance," Ricardo spoke first, standing from his seat and gesturing for Hunk to hand him his gun. Hunk was the muscle of the operation, and he and Lance had taken a quick liking to one another. "Perhaps I could liven things up a bit." He cocked the gun and walked around the table until the barrel was pressed against Lance's temple. 

"Pull the trigger, you fucking coward," Lance hissed. "I dare you." 

"Don't test me, McClain," Ricardo warned. "I've wasted better men than you." 

"You're so tough behind the barrel of that gun, but you're no man," Lance spat. "You're weak." Ricardo grabbed Lance's wrist and forced him out of his chair and face down onto the table. 

"You have five seconds to take that back, you arrogant fuck," Ricardo twisted Lance's arm further up his back, causing his joints to scream out in pain, but Lance remained stoic. "Five, four, three, two, one." He pulled the trigger on Hunk's gun, but the chamber was empty. Lance laughed, knowing that Hunk didn't store his guns loaded. 

"I'll see you next Monday, Ricky," Lance grinned as he moved his way effortlessly out of Ricardo's slackened grip and out the door. 

"I want at least two people tailing McClain at all times," Ricardo ordered furiously. "Wire tap his home and cell lines. If he steps on a bug, I want to know!" He seethed at the shut door through which Lance had just left. 

Day 18

Lance stopped by the florist's shop near the public beach on his way to Keith's house. He selected a simple bouquet of sunflowers, Keith's favorite, if he remembered correctly, which he was certain he did. He knew it was dangerous to meander in the streets with an armful of sunflowers, grinning like a fool and on his way to a dead man's home. But Lance couldn't bring himself to care about any of that, even his own safety. When it came to Keith, everything else melted away into insignificance. 

As Lance rang Keith's doorbell, a suspicious vehicle raced by. It was a sleek black Mercedes, and the driver looked all too familiar. Lance recognized the license plate number as one of Ricardo's stolen cars, and he dropped the flowers he was holding in shock. He was being tailed; fuck, of course he was being tailed after that stunt he'd pulled at Ricardo's last meeting. Lance inwardly chastised himself. He had dropped his guard, fractionally, but he had, and now Ricardo was going to know he was buying flowers and visiting Keith's residence. That wasn't the kind of information that was going to keep him in good health. 

"Mierda," Lance muttered to himself. He hadn't felt so stupid or helpless since before his father had left, and somehow, it was all Keith's fault. He had to quit dragging this out. He had to murder Keith, and as much as he hated to leave a case unsolved, he couldn't risk any further damage to his livelihood. 

"Lance," Keith greeted cheerfully as he swung open the door. He was wearing a cream colored apron, and his hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Lance could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, and he loved it. He didn't want to give up this feeling: the feeling of finally being alive.

"Hi," Lance beamed breathlessly before grabbing Keith and pulling him into a kiss. 

"Wow, thanks," Keith chuckled. "I had no idea I was so irresistible." He added teasingly. 

"Always," Lance breathed as they broke apart, and Keith led him inside. He picked up Keith's forgotten flowers from the welcome mat and pressed them into Keith's hands as soon as they reached the kitchen. 

"Oh, you didn't really have to bring flowers," Keith laughed. "I would've been happy with you alone." Lance flushed under the praise. 

"I wanted to bring them," Lance said, forgetting how obtaining the sunflowers had nearly gotten him killed. It was easy to forget the things which went unsaid in Keith's presence. 

"Well, I hope you also brought your appetite," Keith grinned. "Because I made a very special dinner." 

"You aren't fooling anyone, Red. I already know you can't cook," Lance wrapped his arms around Keith's waist. "Besides, I was hoping we could finish that tour we were going to take the other day. I never got to see your bedroom." 

"Oh, McClain, you think you can get into my pants just because you brought me flowers?" Keith quirked an eyebrow playfully and squirmed out of Lance's embrace. 

"No, I think I can get into your pants because you want me," Lance rebutted confidently. He unfastened another button on his dress shirt, so his chest was nearly exposed. 

"Quit stripping in my kitchen, and eat the food I bought for us," Keith rolled his eyes fondly as Lance winked seductively. "Would you care for a glass of wine?" 

"Pinot noir, if you have it," Lance replied.

"So, you live in an apartment with an estimated value around fifty cents, but you're a wine snob?" Keith mused. "That's funny." 

"Pinot noir is not a snobby wine," Lance was quick to defend his tastebuds. He laughed as Keith retreated to his wine cellar, and he speedily returned with Lance's chosen wine. 

"I love your laugh," Keith complimented. "It's almost as pretty as you are." 

"You're far from my harshest critic," Lance echoed Keith's earlier words with a slight raise of his wine glass. 

About halfway through dinner and polite conversation, Keith decided to begin snaking his toes up Lance's ankle. Lance nearly leapt out of his seat in shock, but Keith's heated gaze held him in place. The further Keith worked his way up Lance's pant leg, the harder Lance was finding it to keep control of his desires. He squirmed in his seat and let out breathy moans at Keith's promises of things to come. 

"Lance," Keith gasped, finding himself equally worked up just from watching Lance's reactions. 

"Please," Lance forced his eyes open in order to lock onto Keith's. He stood from his chair and paced around the table until he stood beside Lance's chair. Lance instantly reached for him, tugging insistently at his belt for a moment before unbuckling it. "May I?" He looked up at Keith through thick lashes and an expression of feigned innocence. 

"Please," Keith nodded eagerly, and Lance unbuttoned and unzipped Keith's stylish jeans. He yanked them down to Keith's mid-thigh along with his boxer briefs, and Keith groaned as the cold air in his dining room hit his half-hard cock. He curled his fingers in Lance's brown locks as Lance mouthed languidly at his thighs. He moved without hurry, and he seemed to know he was driving Keith crazier by the second. He licked over the tip of Keith's cock, and Keith let out a clipped groan. His fingers curled tighter in Lance's hair, and he started to sweat. They were both so hot, so drunk on each other and the reactions they were evoking from one another. Lance leaned forward and sucked a kiss just above where Keith really needed his mouth. 

"Lance!" Keith cried. His eyes were screwed shut, and his head was thrown back in pleasure, exposing gorgeous pale skin that Lance couldn't wait to mark. For now, however, Lance decided that Keith had suffered enough. He sucked the tip of Keith's cock into his mouth, and Keith let out a high, desperate moan. Lance continued down Keith's prick until his nose was buried in Keith's pubic hair. 

"God, Lance!" Keith shouted. He tried to hold himself back from thrusting deep into Lance's throat and cumming harder than he had in his life. Lance seemed to know this. He pulled back from Keith, enough so that he could breathe again before redoubling his efforts. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as he moved up and down on Keith's dick. 

"Don't hold back," Lance pulled off long enough to gasp out the words before returning to his task. He took Keith down to the back of his throat, and Keith experimentally thrust his hips into Lance's waiting mouth. Lance groaned around the base of Keith's cock, which only served to spur Keith on. His moans became breathier, taking on a needy edge as time went on. It didn't take long before he was cumming down Lance's throat. Lance sputtered and coughed, and Keith was quick to release him. 

"Shit, are you alright?" Keith panted. "I should've said something. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Lance smiled up at Keith. "I'm fine." 

Day 17

Lance awoke to a bright stream of sunlight cast across his face. He rolled over sleepily and threw his arm over Keith's shoulders. He tried to relax into a comfortable sleep, but he couldn't lull himself back to rest. He found it difficult to quiet his mind. Lance finally admitted defeat after a few more wasted minutes tossing and turning and slipped quietly out of Keith's bed. He grabbed his button down from the plush carpet and pulled it on before collecting his phone and going downstairs. The staircase spiraled into the kitchen and was adorned with wrought iron railings. Every inch of Keith's home exuded luxury. 

Lance tossed his phone onto the marble countertop and went to the refrigerator to see if Keith had any orange juice. He poured himself a glass and padded to the sliding glass door which led to the patio. The patio overlooked the beach, and the ocean waves were crashing onto the shore just as the sun rose. Lance shook his head, amazed with his own predicament. He returned to the kitchen, set down his glass, and continued his unguided tour through Keith's house. 

Lance came to a large chest of drawers in the piano room and pulled open the top drawer. He felt the familiar thrum of anxiety work its way into his pulse, but he was used to ignoring the twist of his gut. He pressed forward and found two neatly folded pieces of paper at the back of the drawer. Lance unfolded them and saw one was the suicide note he had left after putting two bullets in the side of Keith's ex-fiancé's head, and the other was a note that had been left to Keith. The note was presumably from Keith's ex-fiancé and was written in handwriting that was obviously different from Lance's.

"Am I being searched?" Keith joked once he discovered Lance going through his chest of drawers. 

"I'm sorry," Lance placed the two notes back in the drawer. "I shouldn't have intruded." 

"It's alright," Keith stepped towards Lance and pressed a comforting kiss to the corner of his lips. "Did you find anything interesting?" 

"The note left by your late fiancé..." 

"Yes, curious, isn't it?" Keith spoke with a removed fascination towards the subject. "The police were so quick to dismiss Damien's case as a suicide, but that note wasn't written in his handwriting. And the bullet holes were angled wrong for a suicide." 

"You think he was murdered?" Lance asked. 

"I don't know," Keith frowned contemplatively. "It wouldn't surprise me, and I definitely haven't ruled it out. I'm probably on about every hit list there is, and the people who get close to me...they probably aren't much better off." He leaned forward so that his head was pressed against Lance's chest. Lance wrapped an arm around Keith's waist, and the shorter man tilted his head to press a kiss to Lance's collarbone. "We're going to have to keep running for a little while longer." 

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Lance reassured, and he really believed it. 

Day 15

The conference room was darker than usual, the lack of sun outside creating a domino effect on the heavily windowed office. Ricardo held a manila folder in his hand stuffed with photographs. He stood menacingly over Lance's shoulder, but Lance remained completely unfazed. He stared out the window and waited for Ricardo to speak, an image of polite indifference. 

"Did you think I wouldn't find out about you?" Ricardo demanded. He threw the folder down onto the mahogany conference table, and Lance startled. Ricardo's glare bore into his skull, and Lance could see the spoils of victory glinted in the man's eyes. "While we've been out there risking our necks to protect each other, you've been trimming the roses with Kogane's son!" Lance grabbed the manila folder off the conference table and began paging through the incriminating photos. 

"Keith has nothing to do with our trouble with Charles Kogane!" Lance slammed his palm down on the table. "He doesn't deserve to die!" 

"You don't get to decide those things here!" Ricardo roared. "It's time you learned your place." He fisted his hand in the back of Lance's hair and smashed his head into the table. 

"Please, just listen," Lance felt tears spring to his eyes reflexively. "Keith is a good person, and you just want me to kill him over some petty cash. It isn't right." 

"Would you be fighting this so hard if Keith didn't have such a pretty face?" Ricardo sneered. "Face it, Lance. The only thing you want is a good fuck. You're one of us, and you don't really care about the Kogane boy. So blow his brains out by next Monday, or you're going to get a lot worse than a bloody nose. Comprende?" Lance nodded, and Ricardo ordered everyone out of the room. 

As soon as Lance returned home, he collapsed onto his living room floor. He was unable to force himself to move, and he felt like he was going to be violently ill. Where had he gone so wrong? He used to be a sweet, likable guy, and now...he didn't even want to think about the man he had become. He blamed Ricardo and the mafia for taking his father, taking his innocence and training him to kill. He played a constant game of hide and seek, but he was running out of hiding places, and his mind was getting better at finding him. He was too weak to take what he wanted, to even admit that he wanted it. He could set himself free, but he was too scared of the consequences. 

Lance screamed as he punched a hole through his drywall. He sobbed harder than he had since watching his father's blood spatter against white ceiling tiles. He had lost so much, and everyday it only felt like they were taking more. He wasn't himself anymore, but he wanted to be so badly. 

Keith made all of that disappear. He made Lance forget all of the lines drawn between the person he was and the person he wanted to be. He was innocent, and while he wasn't without flaws, his flaws only made him more beautiful. Lance wanted to kiss him goodnight every night and wake up every morning in his bed. He needed Keith to help him wipe away all of the damage he had done. 

Day 14

Lance awoke to the sound of his cell phone blaring in his ear, amidst the eye of Hurricane McClain. He had destroyed his apartment, and the hole in his drywall only served to mock him further about the lowly state to which he had sunken. 

"Hello?" Lance answered his phone only to get it to stop ringing. 

"Hey, Lance," Keith's voice was on the other end of the line, and Lance thought he would burst into tears on the spot. "I accidentally picked up way too much for breakfast. Would you mind if I came by your place, and maybe you could help me eat it?" 

"My apartment is a disaster," Lance laughed hysterically at the suddenly and seemingly ridiculous mess. 

"I'll help you clean it," Keith declared instantly. "I'm already on my way." 

"Okay, I'll see you soon," Lance hung up the phone, a huge grin plastered onto his face. Keith seemed to have that effect on him. It was only then that Lance realized he had invited Keith over to his apartment, and it looked like a rubbish dump in the Philippines. What possessions he had had been strewn out across the floor of the living room, he had broken plates and glasses and probably stained the countertops in the kitchen with spilled drinks. And Keith was about to see all of that. An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks as he heard a knock at his door. 

"Who is it?" Lance called. 

"It's me," Keith answered. Lance could hear the smile in his voice. 

"It's open." Keith entered the apartment, and his eyes raked over the wreckage. He placed a handful of paper bags on the counter in the kitchen, and his eyes fell on Lance. Lance froze under Keith's gaze. He was usually the epitome of grace, and Keith had never seen him not display strength and total control of a situation. However, as he stood on dirty tile floor in his boxers, he didn't feel worthy to even hold a conversation with Keith. He was a fraud and a liar, and he felt his façade crumble the harder that he tried to keep all of his walls up. 

"Oh, Lance, what happened to you?" Keith stepped towards Lance and enveloped him in a hug. Lance shook his head. "It's alright. You don't have to pretend in front of me." Lance could have wept at the irony behind Keith's words. 

Keith stayed with Lance until his apartment was spotless again. They even went out to the hardware store and repaired the drywall. Lance didn't speak much, but Keith didn't seem to mind. He was embarrassed, and he felt like he had lost a very important pawn in this game of theirs. Keith was comforting with gentle touches and kisses that expected nothing from Lance and asked nothing in return. 

"Thank you," Lance stood in his living room as Keith fiddled with an old radio. 

"You're welcome," Keith replied sincerely. It was in that moment that strands of Keith's hair fell in his face, and he smelled like sweat and cleaning products and drywall repair that Lance knew he was in love. Maybe he was fooling himself with the idea that he could adore someone so completely after only twenty-five days of knowing them, but there was something about Keith that had drawn Lance in from the very beginning. Something that reminded Lance of the person he used to be and that he wasn't trapped. It wasn't too late for him, and he knew that at the end of the line, Ricardo was going to have to kill him before he would hold a gun to Keith. 

"I think I got the radio working," Keith announced. He turned the station to play soft rock before setting it down on Lance's coffee table. "Do you want to dance?" He reached his hand out for Lance to take, which he did happily. Lance pulled him close, and they swayed to the lyrical notes emitted from the radio. 

Day 10

"I really can't eat another bite," Lance declared as he pushed his plate away from him. 

"Ugh, neither can I," Keith agreed. "I never thought I would admit this, but there is such a thing as too much lasagna." Lance laughed as he stood from the table and took their plates into the kitchen. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Keith leaned backwards in his chair. 

"It's no trouble," Lance rinsed their plates and silverware and loaded them into Keith's dishwasher. "Do you have anything planned for dessert?" Keith chuckled at the mention of Lance's endearing sweet tooth. 

"Just me, sweetheart," Keith winked, pushing his chair back from the table. Lance paced towards him and bent to press a kiss to his lips. 

"Ooh, my favorite," Lance teased. He took Keith's hand and pulled him out of his seat. "Can I enjoy my dessert upstairs?" He pressed Keith against the edge of the wooden dining table and bent to mouth languidly at Keith's neck in a way that he already knew drove him crazy. Keith grabbed Lance's shoulders, digging his nails into the pricey linen of Lance's shirt. He had purchased it for Lance, and he couldn't wait to be the one to tear it from his shoulders. 

"Of course," Keith gasped hotly into Lance's ear. Lance used his leverage to lift Keith in the air, holding onto the backs of Keith's thighs. "Are you going to carry me?" Keith chuckled breathlessly as he wrapped his legs tightly around Lance's hips. 

"Yes," Lance replied seriously. His heated gaze locked with Keith's, and Keith felt the burning desire to surge forward and kiss Lance weak. 

"Just when I think you can't get any more incredible," Keith praised. "You outdo yourself." Lance preened as he carried Keith up the stairs and into the bedroom. He stopped several times in order to push Keith against the wall and ravish him before they finally reached the actual bed. Lance threw Keith down onto the bed and instantly began working his belt off. Keith moved at an equally feverish pace. He reached forward and speedily divested Lance of his shirt as Lance tugged his jeans down to his ankles. Keith kicked the jeans the rest of the way off and latched his lips onto the smooth skin of Lance's neck. He moved down Lance's body, unhurriedly marking tanned flawless skin. 

"So gorgeous, Lance," Keith breathed. Lance was in love; he was falling so hard he had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. He couldn't imagine another day of his life without Keith beside him to face the storm. He leaned into Keith's attentions, moaning as Keith mouthed over his particularly sensitive spots. Having Keith's mouth on him felt like flying. He leaned over Keith in order to sift through his nightstand for the lube, ready to move things along to the main event. 

Lance unscrewed the bottle of lube and coated two of his fingers in the viscous liquid while Keith rid himself of the remainder of his clothes. He tugged at Lance's jeans, but Lance smacked his hands away. 

"On your back," Lance ordered, and Keith complied easily. Lance leaned over him, his weight rested on the hand which was by Keith's head and not covered in lube. His lips met Keith's as he pushed the tip of his finger inside Keith's tight hole. "Relax," Lance's breath was hot on Keith's lips. Keith forced himself to unclench, and Lance's finger slipped further inside of him. Already, the feeling of having Lance inside of him was making him hard. Lance stayed close to him as he fingered him open, and Keith moaned and bucked his hips wantonly. His cock brushed Lance's bare chest the harder he thrust up towards Lance's ministrations. 

"God, Lance, fuck me," Keith panted. Lance pushed the sweaty hair off of his forehead and leaned down to press a chaste kiss into the skin. "Please." Lance moved like he was about to pull his fingers away, but he only thrust them back into Keith harder. He held Keith open and fucked into him relentlessly, the pads of his fingers hitting his prostate on each thrust. Keith was moaning and crying out loudly and incoherently; he was in a complete haze. His eyes glazed over with want, and his cock leaked onto his stomach. His entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat and scent of desire. Lance pushed him further into the bed before finally removing his fingers from Keith's entrance. 

"Lance!" Keith growled. Lance ripped open his jeans and pulled them down to reveal his hard, heavy cock. 

"Did you want something?" Lance smirked as he wrapped his fist around the base of his prick and stroked himself. He arched his back in a display of overdramatized pleasure. "Mmm, look at you absolutely dripping for me. You look so hot, Keith, I wish I could have a picture of you like this." 

"Lance," Keith keened, seeming unable to remember any other words. Lance placed one hand on Keith's hip and used the other to guide the tip of his cock to Keith's hole. He slowly, tantalizingly pulled Keith down onto his throbbing dick until their hips met. Keith let out a low growl, and Lance began canting his hips, grinding against Keith's ass until the other man was ready for more. 

"God, Lance, fuck me," Keith groaned. Lance kept a tight grip on Keith's hips as he began slowly thrusting in and out of his tight heat. The sensation was beyond anything Lance could have imagined; sure, he had fucked before, but he had never experienced the true ecstasy of being completely engulfed in someone he loved. 

"Oh, Red," Lance bent down to whisper in Keith's ear. He bit his lip around Keith's real name and crashed their lips together again to keep himself from crying out incriminatingly. 

"Mmm, Lance," Keith moaned. "I'm so close." He held tightly onto Lance's wrists as Lance slammed into him. 

"Uhnn, uhnnn," Lance whimpered and pulled Keith down hard onto himself. 

"Cum for me, Lance," Keith gasped. His husky, insistent words were enough to have Lance spasming into Keith. Keith came shortly after him, impaling himself further on Lance's cock as he finished. 

"Holy shit," Lance worked to control his breathing while he pulled out of Keith and collapsed beside him. "That was incredible." 

"It was," Keith nodded his ascent and leaned over for a quick, messy kiss. They stayed beside each other for several long moments, content to simply rest and breathe in each other's air. 

"I have to go to this charity event at the new art museum opening up downtown. It's not for another week or so, and I was wondering if you'll be my date?" Keith broke the comfortable silence. 

"I'd be delighted," Lance agreed. 

Day 9

Lance pressed a gentle kiss to Keith's temple before slipping out of his house. He began the long, slow walk into the city, needing to clear his head after spending another forbidden night with Keith. He was in so deep, and the harder he fell, the less he cared about anything else. His lips against Keith's warm skin, and the feeling of hot breath ghosting across his face. Murmurs of his name in the night falling from lips that had been crafted with perfection in mind. Lance was risking his neck every minute that he fell into Keith's arms, and he didn't care. It was worth it, so worth it. He was in love for the first time in his life, and he would die to keep his love alive. 

"Lance McClain?" a sleek black limousine pulled up next to Lance on the sidewalk. The driver had a pencil thin mustache and dark, cruel eyes. A tuft of his hair was dyed bleach blond, but the rest faded into an uneven chestnut. Lance didn't recognize the man, though he could assume that if the man knew him, he was one of Ricardo's cronies. 

"Who's asking?" Lance reached for his gun, realizing that, for the first time in years, he wasn't carrying it. 

"They call me Trevor. I work very closely with my brother, Ricardo. You may know him," the limo driver smirked at the panicked look which immediately settled onto Lance's features. "Get in the car if you want to live." Trevor threatened, holding a gun out the window and aiming for Lance. Lance got in the back of the car and was greeted by two near-strangers that he recognized from Ricardo's meetings and Hunk. The two unknown assailants made quick work of tying Lance's arms behind his back and gagging him. He could feel his heart beat in his throat as he glanced across the limousine and met Hunk's gentle, regretful eyes. 

Lance watched out the window as the city rolled past them, and he wondered where these men were taking him. His mind provided him with endless terror-fueled possibilities, all in which he ended up dead. He wanted to scream, and he couldn't. He needed to know where they were taking him, and he didn't. He was slipping back into the person he tried so hard not to be around Keith. The person he wished he wasn't in the first place, a man with trained eyes to kill and a license to do so. He could lunge across the seat of the limousine and make a swift kick at one of men's knees, but even if he successfully incapacitated his captors, he was still stuck with the problem of being tied up. The silence in the limousine only built the fire of his burning anxiety. His terrified mind drifted to Keith then, and all he could do was pray they didn't hurt him. 

The limousine pulled into a parking lot leading to an abandoned warehouse. The warehouse creaked and groaned against the wind; metal doors that had nearly rusted off clanged heavily. There were several broken windows, and broken glass littered the ground. Hunk pulled Lance from the seat of the limousine, and Trevor lead the four men inside the warehouse. There was a single chair in the center of the concrete floor, and suddenly, Lance put together why he was here. Hunk and the two other men positioned and tied Lance to the back of the chair as Trevor stood and watched like a predator waiting for the perfect opportunity to devour his next meal. Lance froze under the intense panic, the knowledge that he couldn't run, and even if he cried for help, no one would come looking for him. 

"So, Lance, I presume you know why you are here?" Trevor stepped forward and removed the gag from Lance's mouth. 

"No," Lance answered defiantly. He watched Trevor's fist fly towards his face, only flinching slightly. His jaw throbbed with the ache of Trevor's punch. 

"Did that refresh your memory?" Trevor asked. He grinned down at Lance, an expression of true malevolence, but Lance spat blood in the face of his attacker. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lance spoke calmly despite the thickness of his tone. He braced himself for another jab, but instead he felt the cold metal of a knife held tightly against his bruised jaw. 

"I'm not fucking around, McClain," Trevor warned. "So you better start talking." Lance took a steadying breath as he met Trevor's vacant, manic eyes. 

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why you haven't bothered to put Kogane in the ground yet," Trevor fisted the fabric of Lance's shirt collar threateningly. 

"I'm working on it," Lance answered vaguely. "What's your fucking rush? His money isn't going anywhere." 

"On the contrary, Ricardo heard it was going to you, hot shot," Trevor sneered at the expensive material of Lance's shirt. "Want to tell me how you could afford a shirt that nice?" 

"I got a job," Lance lied, and he felt a cold slap across his cheek followed by hot blood running down the side of his face. He glanced down and noticed Ricardo's gold ring had been colored the same shade of red. "What do you want from me?" Lance shut his eyes under the guise of blinking away tears. He allowed his shoulders to quiver with non-existent emotion. 

"Tell me why you won't murder Kogane!" Trevor demanded. He raised his hand to strike Lance again, but Lance reached out and grabbed his arm. 

"You really think I survived ten years in the mafia without learning how to untie a knot?" Lance chuckled at the bewildered expression on Trevor's face. He twisted Trevor's arm roughly behind his back, causing him to recoil and cry out from the pain. One of his backup crew lunged forward and attempted to land a blow on Lance, but Lance threw Trevor in front of him like a shield. The resulting scuffle between Trevor and the barbarian provided Lance with enough of a distraction to grab Trevor's fallen gun from the floor. 

"Alright, nobody move!" Lance shouted, aiming the gun at the center of Trevor's chest. The warehouse fell completely silent, so quiet that the breeze blowing against the steel building from outside could be heard. "I want you all to send a message back for me: don't go anywhere near Keith." Lance fired the gun six times. Two bullets found fatal marks in Trevor, and the rest only shot to wound. 

"Don't tell me I have to shoot you too?" Lance winced as he turned his gun on Hunk. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot the person in his life that was closest to a friend. 

"No, I won't hurt you," Hunk said. 

"Good, then you're driving me back into town," Lance kept the gun on him just to be safe, but he trusted Hunk to be true to his word. 

Day 6

'Lance, are you okay? I haven't heard from you in a couple days.' Keith's first text of the day arrived late in the evening. Lance received the message, but he forced himself not to reply. 

'Lance, please talk to me. I'm worried about you.' Tears gathered in the corners of Lance's eyes as he threw his phone across his apartment. He curled into himself and grabbed fistfuls of his hair frustratedly. He couldn't live with himself knowing that he was tormenting Keith, but he couldn't risk maintaining their relationship. He had murdered and wounded for Keith, and that put him dead center on Ricardo's radar. It was only a matter of time before Ricardo would send someone to kill him. 

Lance's usually flawless skin was marred with angry cuts and a smattering of bruises. He nearly vomited looking at his own reflection. He looked like a sociopath, a murderer, a liar. He still longed to wake up one morning and find that the past decade had all been some horribly concocted nightmare. He still wanted to be himself, the real version of himself, but he couldn't find a way to wipe the slate clean. 

"Lance, open this fucking door," Keith knocked loudly at the door, his furious tone reverberating through the small apartment. 

"Leave me alone," Lance choked out. "Please, you can't be here!" 

"Don't shut me out like this," Keith pounded at the door, and his voice took on a desperate edge. "Lance!" 

"You don't understand," Lance sobbed. He scrubbed a hand down his face, wiping away tears and fresh blood. "We can't- I-" 

"Goddamnit, Lance, at least have the balls to tell me this is the end to my face," Keith interjected. Lance padded across the living room and wrenched open his door. "Please don't tell me it's over between us." 

"I- I have to," Lance hiccuped around the words. "It isn't safe for us to be together." 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Keith's anger flared, and he shoved Lance backwards against the wall adjacent to the door. He kicked the door shut swiftly behind him. 

"I'm sorry," thick tears made their way down Lance's cheeks. "I can't explain. I really- you wouldn't understand." 

"Screw you," Keith spat. He moved away from Lance, apparently disgusted, and placed his hand back on the doorknob. "Just, tell me what's going on?" He tried again. "I don't want to lose you." His voice was quiet, and he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. 

"I don't want to lose you either," Lance replied, but his voice was without emotion. "I'm sorry." Keith made himself shut his eyes and take a slow breath. Patience had never been his strong suit, but he needed to call upon whatever little of the virtue he had in order to get through to Lance. He couldn't stand the idea of just never seeing him again; it seemed absurd, like the sun rising in the west instead of to the east. 

"Fine, we don't have to talk," Keith finally gritted out. "Let's just sit down, and I'll wipe off your face." He disappeared to find a washcloth and turn on the warm tap in the bathroom. The apartment was silent for several long minutes as Lance fought to compose himself. Keith pressed lightly against the washcloth in his hand, wiping some of the dried blood from Lance's cheek. Lance winced, and Keith kissed the smooth skin around the abrasion. 

Day 4

Cacophonous suspenseful music blared from the speakers surrounding the theatre seats followed by a loud boom. Several people in the seats in front of Lance and Keith leapt at the jump scare, but Lance had to turn into Keith's shoulder to stifle his laughter. 

"Lance, shhh," Keith bit his lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. 

"But this movie is so predictable," Lance giggled. "It's not even a horror movie. They should've labeled this as a comedy." 

Keith pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, "You're lucky I like you so much." A woman seated in front of them, who wore her hair tightly pulled back, turned around and shushed them. "You're gonna get us thrown out." 

"Good," Lance smirked. "Then we can go home and have some real fun." He placed his hand on Keith's thigh and suggestively slid upwards. 

"Oh, stop," Keith swatted Lance's hand away. 

"Can't stop, won't stop," Lance beamed. "You know you can't resist my charms, Red." He waggled his eyebrows playfully, and for a moment, looking into Keith's eyes, there was nothing between them. 

"Watch the movie," Keith looked back at the screen, but Lance knew he had felt it too. He cupped Keith's jaw and turned him back for a kiss. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lance frowned.

"Nothing," Keith shook his head. He pushed Lance away from him, and Lance felt his heart being torn agonizingly slowly from his chest. "It's been a while since I said this, Lance, and the last person I said this to was most likely murdered, and I know we haven't known each other for very long, but fuck it. I love you." 

"I love you too," tears burned the back of Lance's throat at the confession. "Everyday I fall in love with you all over again." It wasn't a Cinderella story, far from actually. It was a whispered confession in the back of a darkened movie theatre; it was dripping with lies that Lance could never explain. It was fated to end disastrously, but to Lance it was everything. 

"Let's get out of here," Keith grabbed Lance's hand, and they hurried out of the theatre. As soon as their feet had hit the dampened concrete, Keith was pushing Lance against the brick wall of the theatre. "I haven't run out in the middle of a movie since I was fourteen," Keith barked out a laugh before crushing their lips together. 

"Everyday with you makes me feel like a teenager again," Lance chuckled between heated presses of lips. Keith ran his hand beneath the thin fabric of Lance's casual t-shirt, and Lance arched into the touch. 

"Wow, that was lame," Keith teased. 

"I was a very lame teenager," Lance replied. Keith trailed wet kisses down Lance's neck, and Lance threw his head back against the wall in pleasure. He wrapped his hands tightly around Keith's biceps, appreciating his hard, firm muscles. Keith suckled harder at Lance's neck, causing a light purple bruise to form beneath his lips. 

"You might be lame, but you're also very pretty," Keith leaned his head up and kissed him on the cheek. Lance blushed under the praise and the chaste kiss. He slid his hand past Lance's hip and squeezed his ass. "When you blush you get even prettier, if that's possible." Lance's grip tightened like he was afraid that Keith could slip away from him at any second. 

They crashed through Keith's bedroom door, landing forcefully onto his bed, grinning, laughing, and exchanging breaths in kisses the entire time. Keith was fiery in his passion and desperation to be closer to Lance, to feel his warm bare skin. Lance was icy in his reception of Keith's desire, neutralizing his flames into steam. They melded together, giving and taking from one another as naturally as the ancient principle of yin and yang. Where one began, the other ended; it was almost beautiful. 

Day 3

Keith shifted in Lance's arms, causing Lance to jolt awake. 

"'m sorry," Keith murmured against Lance's neck. "Didn't mean to wake you." Lance rubbed soothing circles into the dimples of Keith's lower back until he felt him drift back to sleep. He pressed a light kiss against Keith's hairline, delighting in the calmness of his restful face. Lance cupped Keith's jaw, running light fingers over even lighter scars. 

"Oh, Keith, we never could run fast enough, could we?" Lance whispered. He slipped out of Keith's house as the sun rose over the edge of the ocean, casting an orange-pink glow over the eastern sea. 

Lance returned home to his apartment to find the door swung wide open. He cautiously approached, his fists pulled back in a fighting stance, and his blood ran cold at the sight of Ricardo. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Lance demanded. 

"The better question is where the fuck have you been?" Ricardo advanced towards Lance and fisted his hands in the front of his t-shirt. He hauled Lance up and held him over the balcony. "Better start talking, McClain, because I'm sick of playing your game." He loosened his grip on Lance threateningly, and Lance looked down at cracked concrete. His blood could paint the pavement red, and no one would even notice. There wouldn't be a funeral; the police didn't file reports on mafia violence anymore. Everyone was paid to keep their mouths shut, and those who were murdered couldn't speak. 

"I was with Kogane," Lance admitted. He was choking on his own air, and his mortality was so close he could taste it. 

"I thought Kogane was dead," Ricardo removed one of his hands from Lance's shirt. 

"H-he will be," Lance stuttered. "I promise, you just have to give me more time." 

"I've given you time," Ricardo spoke with an edge of finality that had Lance's pulse sky-rocketing. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and every primal instinct he had was telling him to get away. 

"Th-three days," Lance pleaded. "That's all I need. Just three days." Ricardo lifted him back over the balcony and threw him to the ground. 

"Even a second longer, and I swear to God you're dead," Ricardo aimed a few swift kicks to Lance's ribs before turning away. 

"P-please, hurt me all you want," Lance coughed. "Just don't hurt Keith." 

"I won't be laying a finger on your flavor of the month, McClain," Ricardo sneered as though the idea itself was repulsive. "That's why I hire men like you." He spat on the eggshell painted concrete beside Lance and stalked off. 

Lance forced himself to his feet and inside his apartment a few minutes later. He quickly ran inventory on the few possessions of his that he still bothered keeping track of, needless to say, it didn't take long. He showered and changed into a clean set of clothes, which was apparently enough time for Keith to wake up since he had a missed call from him. Lance dialed back with baited breath. 

"Hey, you ran out this morning," Keith sounded like he was pouting. "I was hoping we could go tux shopping today, but if you're busy-" 

"No, I'm not busy," Lance interjected albeit overeagerly. "I had an early meeting, but I'm free for lunch." 

"Terrific, should I pick you up downtown?" Keith asked. 

"Sure," Lance agreed. "We can meet at the coffee shop." 

"It's a date," Keith grinned before hanging up the phone. Lance pocketed his own cell and went to the mirror to fix his hair. 

Rain assaulted the windows of Lance's cab so fervently it was like they were trying to crack the glass. He stared at the gloomy skies, allowing himself to get lost in the sound each raindrop made as it hit the roof of the vehicle. He felt rather than saw the cab pulling up in front of the old coffee shop. 

"You sure this is where you wanna be?" the cabbie turned in his seat to look at Lance quizzically. "This place looks closed." 

"I'm meeting someone," Lance replied coldly before handing over his cab fare and exiting the vehicle. He didn't have to soak on the streets for long before Keith was pulling up on his motorcycle. 

"Shitty day for biking, isn't it?" Lance teased as Keith handed over his spare helmet.

"It was my brother's bike," Keith looked up at Lance with vacant eyes, but his expression betrayed his pain. 

"What happened?" Lance took Keith's hand in comfort. 

"He's dead," Keith's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and Lance's jaw dropped. "They fucking killed him, and now...now they're coming after me." 

"Who?" Lance frowned. 

"God, you're gonna think I'm crazy," Keith shook his head. "Please, promise you'll believe me when I tell you this. It's the kind of shit you only hear about in the movies." 

"I promise, Red," Lance assured. He squeezed Keith's hand gently. 

"The mafia has been after my family for a while. First they took my parents, then my fiancé," Keith was choking on his accusations, and Lance pulled him in tighter. "They had been tracking Shiro for months, and I guess they finally found him. The Miami PD called and asked me to go identify the body, but if they found Shiro, then they found me too." Keith shook with the effort of holding back his sobs. "Fuck, Lance..." 

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," Lance kissed the wet matted hair on Keith's forehead. "I believe you. I'll keep you safe." 

"You can't," Keith sobbed, curling his hands into the damp fabric of Lance's shirt. "I've been running for years, and they still found me. They found Shiro! They won't stop until I'm dead. You have no idea how far they're willing to go." 

"Red, trust me," Lance offered a sad smile. "As long as I'm with you, nothing bad is going to happen to us." 

"What about you?" Hot tears ran down Keith's cheeks, and he fought to draw shaky breaths into his lungs. "What if they come after you?" Lance didn't have an answer. 

Day 2

Lance looped his arms around Keith's neck and tied his bow tie. He pressed a light kiss to the back of Keith's neck as he admired their reflection in the full length mirror of the tuxedo shop. 

"You look stunning," Lance smiled into Keith's pale skin, and Keith turned in his arms and buried his face in Lance's chest. 

"Thank you," Keith muttered. "I don't want to look at myself right now. Let's just buy this one and get out of here." Lance rubbed slow, warm circles over Keith's back. He pulled him closer into his chest, wishing he could seep the pain from Keith's chest into his own. "God, I miss him." Keith bit hard at his lower lip to keep himself from crying. "Sorry I'm such a mess. I just-" 

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Lance interrupted Keith's apology with a sweet kiss. "I know exactly how you feel. I lost my father when I was sixteen. He was abducted, and I never heard from him again." 

"He wasn't just my brother," Keith sniffled. "He was my best- my best friend." His voice shook with untold emotion, and Lance ran his fingers through his hair soothingly. 

"I know," Lance whispered. "I love you, and I promise I'll be with you until the very end." 

"Thank you, Lance," Keith breathed, pulling himself tighter against Lance's chest. "Thank you so much." 

Keith retreated into the dressing room to get changed back into his street clothes. He tugged the laces on his boots so tightly he felt like he could hardly breathe, but anything was better than the empty ache in his chest where Shiro should have been, the twinge of uncertainty that followed every one of Lance's actions. 

"Keith, let's get going. I know a great place where we can catch lunch," Lance knocked on the door of the dressing room, and Keith emerged. He flung Lance's chosen tuxedo over his arm and purchased both at the register. Both men smiled at the cashier with faux politeness and an airy cheerfulness that neither of them possessed. Lance led Keith out of the shop with their purchases, placing a hand on his lower back. 

"Can we just go back to my place?" Keith asked. "I don't really feel like being out." Lance nodded understandingly. Keith found his motorcycle where he had left it parked in one of the metered spots lining the sidewalk. He mounted the bike before strapping on his helmet and tossing the spare to Lance. 

Lance stepped through the front door of Keith's extravagant home only to find the first floor in total ruins. Boxes and stacks of loose newspapers, clothes, books, and computers were strewn everywhere. Several expensive pairs of shoes and custom bike helmets mixed in with the clutter along with unopened boxes marked 'mementos' and what looked like old photo albums. 

"Shiro's stuff," Keith muttered on his way to the kitchen. "I haven't really gone through it yet." Lance stooped to grab one of the photo albums before following Keith further into the wreckage. 

"Is this you?" Lance flipped the album open to a page in the center featuring a tall, broad-shouldered man with his arm slung around a preteen Keith's shoulders. Preteen Keith was wearing what looked to be a little league baseball jersey. 

"Don't look through those," Keith snapped. He snatched the photo album off the counter and slammed it shut. 

"Why not?" Lance pouted. 

"Because they're private," Keith bit back, his tone harsh and leaving no room for questioning. "Every kid used to be on a little league team, and every kid used to look up to their big brother like he was invincible. I'm not special or interesting, and I'd prefer if you didn't mock the few memories I have left of the only person who I could be myself around." 

"I wasn't mocking," Lance muttered embarrassedly. "It must be really hard, what you're going through." 

"I'm scared that one day it won't hurt," Keith felt himself on the verge of another breakdown. He went to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff drink, offering one to Lance as well. "I'm scared that one day I'll think about Shiro, and it won't even bother me that I'll never see him again. That I'll just be, I don't know, used to it. I don't want to forget him. As crazy as it sounds, I don't want it to stop hurting because then...then it's like he's really gone." Lance walked around the granite countertop and pulled Keith into a tearful hug. 

"It's going to be okay," Lance pressed soft kisses into Keith's hair. "You're not just suddenly going to forget about your older brother." 

"I wish they had taken me first," Keith pushed away from Lance and downed the rest of his drink.

"Don't say that," a frown creased Lance's eyebrows. "They'll never catch you, I promise." Keith turned towards him and crushed their lips together hotly. The kiss was pure desperation, Keith trying to drown out his feelings, and Lance struggling to be everything Keith needed in that moment. He languidly kissed Keith's lips apart and slid his tongue against Keith's warm mouth. He pushed Keith backwards against the countertop, testing his boundaries, and Keith submitted eagerly. 

"Please, Lance," Keith panted wetly across Lance's jaw, and Lance wedged his knee between Keith's legs. They were quick and messy in the kitchen, but as Lance took Keith upstairs and laid him down on silk sheets, he began moving slower and with more deliberation. The thought flashed in his mind that these were his final days with Keith, and that made the fire in his gut burn anew. He took his time, running his hands up and down Keith's hips to his ribs and back down. He mapped every inch of pale, flawless skin, kissed every line and wrinkle of his face. 

"I adore you," Lance breathed against Keith's bare hipbone. He rucked Keith's shirt up further and began teasing him with his mouth. He charted every reaction he received from Keith, every breathy moan and gasp saved for later. He gave Keith his soul and let it pour through every ministration. They shared in a dance, but the song was ending. Lance had paid the band extra to play them another note, but that note hadn't been long enough for the two of them either. They would have to part sooner rather than later. 

Day 1 

Lance burrowed himself in his apartment in order to prepare for the charity dinner he would be accompanying Keith to. He ran over the plan a hundred times in his mind, but he still couldn't believe it was going to end this way. He had killed hundreds, been remorseful for maybe ten, but murdering Keith...it was going to destroy him. He tucked his pale blue shirt into his slacks with a practiced deliberation. He was used to dressing up, used to hiding his gun in the waistband of a good pair of slacks, used to being ready to kill at the drop of a pin. He was back in his usual territory, but somehow, it felt unfamiliar like Lance had gotten out of a pool, allowed the sun to dry his skin, and attempted to jump back in the water only to find it seemed to have cooled twenty degrees. 

Keith had been his sun. He had warmed Lance and made him forget. 

Lance had never felt more alive than when he had Keith's skin beneath his fingers. Keith had been an enigma, but he had become so much more. He had rooted himself so firmly in Lance's life that Lance didn't want to go back to the way things had been. He wanted to escape; he wanted to cut Keith free and run away together, just the two of them hand-in-hand against the world. But those were childish fantasies that Lance could only entertain for so long; their story was one without a happy ending, a tragedy worthy of the Globe Theatre. 

Lance easily tied his bow tie before shrugging on his suit jacket. He did up the front two buttons, his hand sliding over the loaded gun at his hip. He had run from his duty long enough. Lance padded into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of expensive scotch. Keith had purchased it for him once discovering that it was his favorite, and Lance promised himself that he would save it for special occasions. What occasion more special than to drink to the death of the only person Lance had ever allowed himself to love? He poured slug after slug of the amber liquid down his throat until he was unsteady on his feet. His vision blurred at the edges, and he couldn't remember why he had picked up the bottle of scotch in the first place. 

"God, I wish it were me," Lance slurred and sobbed on his knees in his empty apartment. "Please, forgive me." His throat felt dry, and visions of Keith played- like a sad film to which he already knew the ending- in his mind's eyes. Keith was winter's first white snow; he was a dewy untouched forest. And he had been moulded into a man who had to look over his shoulder every other step he took because he was unlucky enough to be born into a wealthy family. Lance hoped Ricardo and everyone else in the mafia burned for what they had done. 

Lance wept for his parents. He wept for Shiro and Damien, who had met their untimely ends. He wept for Keith. He wept for the injustices that countless people turned their backs on daily while innocent people were forced to suffer and take lives. He wept for the man he used to be, the carefree, goofy teenager who was as dead as any other man who had stared down the barrel of Ricardo's gun. He couldn't change the world; he couldn't even save one civilian. He was worthless, except as a murderer. All he would ever be in his life was a good shot. 

Keith rapped at the door to Lance's apartment. 

"It's open," Lance called from where he was gelling back his hair in his cracker box of a bathroom. Keith turned the knob and stepped into the spotless, if not vacant, apartment. 

"Lance?" Keith inquired. "Hurry up, we're gonna be late." 

"Oh, cool your jets," Lance beamed at the sight of Keith. "The world will not crumble if we're a few minutes late to some charity dinner. You don't even want to go." 

"No, but seeing as how I'm the new face of the company, it's probably a little necessary that I show up," Keith rolled his eyes fondly as he watched Lance fuss with his hair. He approached Lance from behind and ran a hand over Lance's ass. "Those pants fit nicely." 

"T-thank you," Lance squirmed under the praise. 

"Mm, you're welcome," Keith smiled. "Now, let's go." He grabbed Lance's wrist and tugged him insistently out the door. They climbed into the back of a limousine together, and Keith clasped his hand tightly in Lance's. 

"After you left this morning, I had to spend all day writing my speech for this event," Keith complained. 

"That must have been a drag," Lance said distantly. He couldn't think with his mind counting down the seconds that were left of Keith's lifespan. He leaned across the seat and kissed him reverently, thinking of how much he loved Keith, how Keith had completely changed his life, and he would always be indebted to him for that. 

"What was that all about?" Keith chuckled when Lance pulled back. He kept his hand over Keith's chest, feeling his heartbeat. 

"I love you," Lance was dimly aware that he hadn't answered Keith's question, had probably only worried him more, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted his love to be enough; he wanted his love to save Keith. 

"I love you too," Keith squeezed Lance's hand tighter. "But right now you're scaring me." 

"I'm sorry," Lance muttered. It wasn't the only thing he was sorry for. 

The cityscape seemed tainted as both men pressed closely to each other and stared out the tinted windows of the limousine. The sky was alight, as though someone had sprinkled the earth with different, magnificent hues of purple, blue, and gold. But still something seemed different. The people in the streets were just as merry and boisterous as always, the buildings as tall and brightly lit, providing the city with a constant glow. But Lance could taste a disgusting truth in the air. It consumed him, pulling him in and reminding him that after tonight, he would be alone again. 

He couldn't do it anymore. 

"Lance, we're here," Keith whispered gently. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crease of Lance's brow. "You're so quiet. Are you feeling okay?"

"Never better," Lance lied. Keith led him inside the art gallery. The walls and floors were all white marble, and the open floor plan was interspersed with high corinthian columns, emanating elegance. The art pieces were gold-framed and chosen with obvious precision. Several waiters dressed in black and white tuxedos carried trays of different appetizers and drinks that Lance had never even heard of, much less sampled. Lance had a moment to glance around in awe before Keith was leading him further into the labyrinth of cheerful, talkative people. 

"Lance, I want you to meet some of these lovely people," Keith's tone was perfected to please. The Keith standing at his side was nothing like the shy boy in the corner of the coffee shop, the closed-off man whom Lance had fallen in love with, or the grieving brother. He was business-like and professional, kissing ladies' hands and chatting animatedly about stocks and production levels. 

"It's so lovely to meet the man who keeps him sane," one of the older women joked, placing a wrinkled hand on Lance's forearm. Lance spoke idly with the woman, but his focus was on Keith. He watched the man's every practice move, every honey-coated word that fell from between soft lips, and Lance fell in love all over again. He wondered how everyone who met Keith didn't become completely and instantly enamored with him. He had commanded Lance's full attention since the moment he had spotted him across the tiled floor of a run-down coffee shop. Keith was the one person in the entire world who had stolen Lance's heart. Keith had unwittingly given Lance the world, never asking anything in return because he didn't know the gift of his presence already meant so much. 

"Oh, look at you," the woman tittered in Lance's ear. "You two are making eyes at each other like a couple of love-sick teenagers." She laughed at her own observation, and Lance forced a vapid chuckle. Keith's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket to check the caller ID. In large print across the screen was the number for Shiro's burner phone; Keith had memorized the number but never programmed it into his phone for safety reasons. 

"Excuse me, I have to take this," Keith slipped out of the main gallery floor before answering the call. "Who is this?" 

"It's me," Shiro replied. 

"Prove it," Keith was gripping the phone in his hand so tightly his knuckles went white. He screwed his eyes shut tightly, and he tried to keep himself from getting his hopes up. Shiro was gone. He was gone, and this was some kind of cruel prank or elaborate trap. 

"I had a nose ring in high school," Shiro chuckled. 

"Checks out," Keith let out a breath of humored relief. "That's so embarrassing, I doubt you'd admit to it even if you were under duress." He could hear the smile in Shiro's voice, and suddenly it sunk in that Shiro was alive. He was alive and safe enough to make a phone call. "How did you escape?" 

"It's a long story," Shiro sighed. "And one we don't have time for. Listen to me, Keith. As I was running away I grabbed files on all of the mafia's known hit men. Do you know Lance McClain?" 

"What does this have to do with Lance?" Keith shuddered as he stepped onto the roof. "The mafia has information on Lance already?" He felt fear paralyze his heart; he knew this was going to end up endangering Lance. Everyone who got close to him got hurt eventually. "Look, whatever they want with Lance-" 

"Wait, how do you know Lance?" Shiro interjected urgently. 

"I met him at a coffee shop," Keith said. "He's my boyfriend." His heart stopped as he awaited Shiro's reply on the other end of the line. He turned on his heel when he heard the door to the stairwell open. "Lance, thank god it's you." He breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of the other man. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." Lance couldn't speak around the lump in his throat or the chant in his head telling him to just do it now and get it over with. 

"It's him," Shiro announced. "Lance is one of the mafia's hit men. You can't trust him." Keith dropped his phone as utter devastation clutched his heart. The realization that Lance never did love him crashed down on him, and all he could do was drown. Lance was just doing a job, only getting close to Keith for the purpose of eventually murdering him. The past month, the best month of Keith's entire life, had all been a lie. He had loved Lance, had let his guard down, had cried on his shoulder about Shiro, for fuck's sake. He had trusted Lance, really trusted him like he had no other before, and none of it was real. 

"Keith, I'm sorry," Lance pulled his gun out of his holster. "I'm so sorry." He cocked the gun and aimed for Keith's chest. 

"W-was it all a lie, then?" Keith fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

"No," Lance shook his head. 

"And why should I believe that?" Keith demanded angrily. "Why should I take the word of a murderer?" His harsh words drove a knife into Lance's heart. Keith knew the truth, and now he could barely force himself to meet Lance's gaze. Lance had always known what he was, had always been hurt by what he did, but Keith had never looked at him with a label before. 

"You don't have to believe me," Lance's hands shook as he fought to hold the gun steady. "But I do love you, and I'm sorry." He pulled the trigger and watched as blood stained Keith's white shirt. His knees buckled, and Lance knelt beside his fallen form. He screamed in agony, feeling as though he were the one who had a bullet in his chest. "Oh God, Keith, I'm sorry." He shed tears which spoke of loss, but Keith would never see them. He would never hear his pain. After tonight, the only place Lance would ever see Keith again was in the ground. The realization made Lance's chest tighten painfully. 

14 Days Later

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me here," Lance muttered. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness." He played with the silver spoon beside his teacup idly. 

"Well, I'm supposed to be dead, and..." Shiro sighed before placing a hand on top of Lance's. "We both miss Keith." 

"Y-you believe me?" Lance's eyes shot wide. 

"I do," Shiro nodded. "Keith doesn't get attached to people easily, but well, I'll let you read his note." He opened his briefcase and handed Lance a packet of papers. The top page was titled 'Keith Kogane Last Will and Testament.' He opened it with tentative fingers and saw a simple line at the top of the first page. 

'In the event of my death, I'd like all of my possessions and assets to be left to Lance McClain.' At the bottom of the page was Keith's signature. 

"He wanted me to have all of his stuff?" Lance asked, disbelief evident in his tone. 

"You were the only person in his life that he really cared about," Shiro said. "For you to have made that much of an impression on Keith in one month, you couldn't have been faking that. When I mentioned you on that phone call, I'd never heard Keith sound more terrified. He thought you were in danger." 

"Turns out I was the danger," Lance pointed out bitterly. 

"It's not your fault," Shiro replied. "I know you want to blame yourself for this, but the reality is when you're involved with something as heartless as the mafia, you have no choice but to bend to their every whim. We've all done a few things we're not proud of, but if we came by those things honestly, we need to forgive ourselves." 

"He called me a murderer," Lance wiped furiously at the tears which threatened to fall from his eyes. 

"You're not a murderer," Shiro spoke with an earnestness that had Lance's heart clenching. 

"You're the first person to say that to me in ten years," Lance admitted.


End file.
